


To Catch a Cheat

by it_was_anyway



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Castiel (Supernatural), Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Season 16 Compliant, literally just fluff, not that its a plot point but he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 05:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30134967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/it_was_anyway/pseuds/it_was_anyway
Summary: The Winchester-Leahy Foosbal tournament has been running for a long time now, and competition is fierce. So fierce, in fact, that Dean’s begun to think something nefarious is going on.This is just complete fluffy nonsense inspired bycastiel-angel-of-thursdaysand I talking about headcanons.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, mentioned Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	To Catch a Cheat

“I think Sam’s cheating.” 

Dean felt more than heard the sigh come from the stomach his head was resting on. 

He knew it was a bold accusation to be tossing around, but he was not one to point the finger without reason. For the validity of their tournament it was crucial that everyone played fair, and Sam, as far as Dean could tell, didn’t seem to be taking that seriously. Which meant that it fell to him to enforce the rules. He’d been mulling it over the last hour while staring holes into the ceiling, and was pretty confident with where he had ended up. “It’s the only possibility.”

Cas shifted slightly underneath him, and Dean heard the sound of pages shutting before he cleared his throat to respond. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Think about it.” Dean was prepared for that question. “He was losing to me for months. Just barely, mind you, but he was unquestionably losing. Tonight he won three in a row. Doesn’t that seem suspicious to you?”

“No, not really.” His husband said evenly, “You won three in a row a couple of weeks ago.”

“Not true. I won three total, but one of those was against you.”

“What does that matter?” Cas was trying his best to attempt offence at that implication.

Dean tilted his head back far enough to lock eyes with the man he was lying on. “You suck at foosball, _everyone_ wins against you.”

Although Cas continued to struggle against losing his frown it was already cracking a little at the edges, and had been a pretty mediocre execution at best. Dean knew it hadn’t even been close to reaching his eyes. They were looking down at him now, so _fond_ , always so filled with affection it made his heart sing. _God, he really loves me_ , he thought, for the thousandth time. He was supposed to be teasing, Cas was supposed to be frowning, but here they were caught in the familiar trap all over again. Dean shook his head.

“You won’t distract me that easily.” He said, reaching up to point threateningly at those deep blue harbingers of doom. That proved a fatal flaw, as Cas caught his hand in his own and laid it down gently beside them.

“I am listening.” He said earnestly. “Three in a row.”

“Three in a row against _me_ .” Dean pushed on, ignoring the way Cas was now gently playing with his wedding ring. _Asshole_.

“Have you considered maybe he's just been practising?”

“So have I. We’ve both been practising.”

Cas chuckled. “Yeah but Sam’s got Eileen.”

“Don’t even get me _started_ on Eileen. Trash talking is a completely valid game plan and you’re not supposed to be able to take your ears off and stop listening.” 

His husband wasn’t buying it. “Jealousy.” He said. 

Dean sighed. “Obviously. She doesn't even need the immunity. If any of us deserved the help it would be you, buddy. No offence.”

“Fully taken. Don't even pretend you didn't mean it.”

Dean grabbed his hand back as revenge. He rolled over, crossing his arms on Cas’ chest before lowering his head down on top of them. He gave his best impression of Sam’s puppy dog eyes, trying to water down the impact of his next statement.

“I think he’s put a hex bag in the table.”

Cas actually burst out laughing at that one, rocking Dean’s head from side to side. “Do you really think there’s a spell for _foosball_ in the book of the damned?”

“Don’t mock me.” Dean pouted. “There’s a thousand mundane spells for getting slightly better at things. That’s magic’s whole appeal.”

“So what, you’re going to accuse Sam of hexxing our game tomorrow morning over breakfast?” Cas asked, back to a steadier disbelief.

“Not without evidence.” At that thought he bolted upright. “Evidence which I'm going to have to collect.”

“I smell a bad idea coming.”

Dean leaned over to plant a kiss on top of his next objection. “I'm going to go scope it out while he's asleep.”

Cas seemed frustratingly unperturbed. “Dean it's _your_ foosball table, situated in one of _your_ rooms of a secret bunker that, oh yeah, you also own. Why do you need to sneak around in your own home? You can just-”

“If Sam catches wind of my suspicion he will destroy the evidence.” Dean grabbed Cas’ hand. “Come on,” he said, giving a half hearted tug, “back me up here. It’s dangerous out there.”

Cas looked over at him. “Honey I love you, but you are an idiot. I’m going back to my book.”

* * *

As Dean passed the doorway for the kitchen his stomach gave a little grumble. Probably more of a learned response than anything, kitchen _did_ usually equal food, but now Dean himself had also been tricked into feeling hungry and what was a little pit stop really going to matter in the grand scheme of things? 

To his disappointment, the most edible thing in the fridge that didn’t require additional preparation (and wasn’t one of Sam’s weird health foods) was a packet of salami sticks. Shrugging, Dean went to take a bite, but froze mid chew at the sound of someone walking down the hallway towards him.

He panicked. This _was_ his kitchen, and he had every right to be in it, but despite all of that being completely logically sound Dean still took one look at the pantry and dove head first into it, a manoeuvre which sounds very loud in theory but he somehow managed to pull off with only the faintest of scuffles, which could be attributed to his socks sliding to a halt before he pulled the door shut behind him. 

It was Sam. Here for the menacing looking sandwich Dean had passed on seconds earlier. But instead of grabbing it and returning to his room, Sam, much to Dean's dismay, settled down at the table for his meal. He was facing away from his brother’s hiding place, but Dean knew that with no other noise there wasn't a hope of sneaking out without him noticing. 

Dean's stomach grumbled again and he remembered to finish chewing. There was even some salami left in his hand, which he consumed while trying to figure out his next course of action. 

He'd half hoped in the time it took him to finish his snack Sam too would have moved on, but the giant pain in the ass seemed to have barely even started. His phone was on the table next to him, and whatever he was reading seemed to be much more pressing than getting the hell out of here and leaving Dean to his investigation.

 _Nothing for it_ , he thought, _the time has come to grovel for help_. He clasped his hands together, taking care not to upset any of the items balanced precariously on the shelf next to him, and started whispering a prayer.

“Castiel. My love. I know you’re rolling your eyes at me right now but listen, I’m stuck in the pantry. Sam’s eating one of those lettuce leaf things, you know, the ones we have no clue how he keeps them together? He’s really taking his time, I don’t know how much longer I can hold out in here. The stress is just unbearable. Rescue me, please. I beg you.”

It was only a couple of heartbeats before he heard the footsteps. 

Dean muttered his undying gratitude as he watched Cas walk in and take a seat next to Sam at the table. 

“Oh hey, Cas,” Sam greeted him, putting his sandwich back down on his plate. 

“Hello Sam.” After a moment's hesitation, in which the angel probably realised sitting quietly was no diversion, he asked, a little pained, “how’s your... Lettuce.”

To Dean's relief Sam actually answered him. That gave him his opening to tiptoe around the edge of the kitchen and out the way he came, giving one last smile towards his saviour. 

* * *

Dean searched every nook and cranny of his Dean Cave. He found a lot of things that weren’t what he was looking for. For one, hidden between the sofa cushions, he finally found the novelty eraser Jack had lost the other month during the excitement of the Riverdale season premiere. Dean didn’t exactly want to be present for it, but in the end how could he have said no. Excitement was infectious.

Thinking about Jack brought a smile to Dean’s face as he inspected the underside of the TV stand. The kid was also a surprisingly good foosball partner when his actual partner had let the team score down one too many times. He wasn’t quite sure if Jack was talented or if everyone was just too nice to let him loose repeatedly, but he couldn’t deny it worked out in his favour asking him to play. Maybe, Dean thought, he was simply a good luck charm. Could nephilim do that? Was _he_ the one harbouring a cheater? He quickly shut the door on that thought, as well as the drinks cabinet.

Best to focus on Sam’s much more quantifiable transgressions. He had been spending more time than ever with Rowena studying god knows what. There _had_ to be some of her influence over all of this. Dean even checked the light fixtures. Unfortunately he still couldn’t find a damn thing. 

Eventually, admitting temporary defeat, Dean made the long journey back to his bedroom. 

Suddenly tired again, he buried his face in Cas’ chest and mumbled. “He must have hidden it really well.” After a moment's consideration he added, “thanks for having my back though.” An amused rumble made its way through his pillow, and a hand came to rest on his hair. 

“Any time, Dean.”


End file.
